Do No Harm
by mercy rain
Summary: Sam leaps into a doctor in 1974 to save a young runaway.


Quantum Leap: Do No Harm

"I trust that you will make progress with Dr. Winchell, Miss Donnelly." A voice was saying as Dr. Samuel Beckett, leaped in. Sam blinked and looked quickly at the other two people in an institutional room with him. One was a dry looking middle aged man with graying hair and thin, ascetic features. The other was a teenage girl, perhaps fourteen, with long straight blond hair and blue eyes. Her features might have been pretty if they weren't frozen into a look of restrained contempt. Sam made a wild guess that he was Dr. Winchell. The other man nodded politely and took his leave. Sam glanced around the room, saw the desk and made a surreptitious check of his body. Adult, male. Good. What he could see of the clothes didn't tell him much about the time period. Both he and the other man were wearing classically styled, somewhat academic clothing. Wool pants, shirt, tweed jacket. It didn't tell him much about the time period. The room didn't seem to be an examining room. What kind of doctor was he? He went around behind the desk and tried to casually look for a calendar. There was a weekly planner, which didn't help. He motioned her to sit down in the chair across from him. She did so sullenly.

"So why do you think you're here?" He asked as gently as he could, wondering about her attitude.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I'm guessing it's because I don't like small spaces." Her tone implied both that it was no big deal and that adults were idiots.

"Claustrophobia." He replied.

"Yeah, I know the word for a fear of small spaces. But I'm not afraid. I just don't like them."

She was tough; he had to give it to her. He frantically scanned the papers on the desk for some clue as to how he was supposed to handle this. He didn't spot anything, but then the steady, blue eyed stare was rattling him. There was something very adult about Miss Donnelly. "So…why don't you tell me why other people think you're afraid of small spaces?" Was he a psychiatrist? Or psychologist? The bare room didn't offer any clues.

She gave the patented teenage sigh. "I don't like crowded buses. I don't like fishing around in the back of closets." She singsonged. "People give me grief over it, and I get annoyed. Therefore, _I_ get set to the shrink to "learn to control my fears"."

Bingo, he was a shrink of some sort. "Well…would you like to work on not being…. apprehensive of enclosed spaces?" He asked carefully.

She shrugged. From somewhere a bell rang. "I've got to go. That's the bell for dinner duty."

He nodded, guessing that they were in a boarding school of some sort. "All right, I'll see you next time."

A brief look of surprise crossed her face before she hid it and he knew that he'd erred in dismissing her. Oh well, he couldn't help it. He had no idea where to take it from here. She left quickly; long legs beneath the brown plaid skirt moving her quickly out the door. He could see a deserted secretary's desk and empty waiting room before she closed the door behind her. Sam sighed and started snooping around for clues while he waited for Al to appear.

His name was Albert Winchell. According to his driver's licensee, it was sometime before 1974 and he was a brown haired, brown-eyed Caucasian, five foot eleven inches, who did not need corrective lenses. According to the thin file on his desk, Andrea Donnelly had turned thirteen three months ago. She was described as a loner, sullen, difficult, a four time runaway. Her parents had been killed two years before. A mudslide had carried their car over an embankment, Andrea had been trapped in the back seat for several hours before rescue workers found and extricated her. She'd suffered a compound leg fracture and concussion in the incident. Her two siblings, both older, had been away at school when the incident occurred. Sam, product of a loving family, felt sorry for her and made the assumption that perhaps she was trying to reach her siblings during her runaway attempts.

His perusals were interrupted by the sound of the imaging room door.

"Hi ya, Sam." Al said soberly. He looked tired, but was dressed as nattily as ever. His eggplant purple suit was contrasted by the light lavender shirt and iridescent purple tie.

"Al, nice of you to make it." Sam grinned to take the sting out of his words. "I think I got it figured out."

"OK, let's hear it."

"I'm Dr. Albert Winchell, but I'm not sure if I'm a psychiatrist or psychologist."

"Psychiatrist."

"I work at a boarding school in the Chicago area."

"Westover, it's run by the intelligence community for their members' children. And you have a private practice. This is part time."

"Am I here to help Andrea Donnelly."

"Right."

"To overcome her claustrophobia?"

"Wrong."

"OK, then why am I here?"

"Late tonight she's found in a storage room in the basement beaten and raped. She lapses into a coma and dies in fourteen months." Al's voice was hoarse with the horror of it.

Sam had been standing near the desk. Now he leaned his weight back onto it. "Oh, no, Al."

Al just nodded.

"How do I stop it?"

"We don't know who did it. So the only way is to be here when it happens. "

Sam nodded mutely.

Sam made excuses for staying late that night, spreading files out on the desk for good effect. Although in glancing at them, he found that there seemed to be rather a lot of mental illness among the student population. He asked Al to ask Dr. Beeks about if this was normal or not.

The man who had delivered Andrea to him entered sometime after the dinner hour. "Dr. Winchell. I assumed that you had gone home."

"No, I was just reviewing some files."

"You do remember the rule about visitors leaving before seven."

"Oh. Yes, of course. But then, I'm not a visitor, am I?" Sam's tone didn't make it a question.

"Gushie, we got a name on this guy?" Al asked the unseen programmer. A few moments passed while the unknown faculty member attempted to stare Sam down and failed. "It's Grant Paine, Sam. He's dean of students."

"Very well, Dr. Winchell. Try to be done by lights out."

"I intend to, Mr. Paine." Sam replied coolly.

"I'm going to check on Andrea, Sam." Al said after the dean had left. He blinked out of existence and returned a few moments later.

"She's doing homework in the girls' dorm" He reported.

"You didn't take the scenic route?" Sam asked sarcastically.

"Saaammm. I'm not a pervert."

"I know, Al, I was just kidding."

"Although Andrea does promise to be a great looking woman. Suppose you could leap in when she's older?"

"Al!"

"Just asking."

If Andrea Donnelly had known that God, Time or Whoever had leaped a Nobel Prize winner into her realm to save her life, she would have laughed. She didn't believe in God. She didn't really believe in anything, other than life sucked. She wasn't thinking about the big questions of life that night, however. She'd just finished her math homework, making a few mistakes on purpose so that the teachers wouldn't think she was too smart, and closed her books. Her dormmates were still busy. She glanced around and casually stood up and slipped out the door.

It was mid fall, but she hadn't been able to stop for her coat. It didn't matter. She was outside, with the wind on her face, as cold as it was. Leaves crunched beneath her shoes. She breathed deeply of the night air and felt reborn. It seemed sometimes that she should be able to stretch out her arms and just fly away from here. To fly, like a bird. She closed her eyes momentarily, dreaming of what it would feel like to spread wings instead of arms and leave the earth behind.

Someone was in front of her.

She stopped abruptly and her eyes snapped open.

"Dean Paine."

"Miss Donnelly. Is there a reason why you're out after curfew."

"I…just needed some air."  
"Indeed."

She waited for him to decree a punishment, but he was silent. She felt uneasy, as she always did in his presence. Like a wild animal, she relied on senses and instincts that she could not explain. Something told her to move and she obeyed it. His hand shot out to grab her. She dodged and started to run.

"Stop right there!" He ordered.

Her instincts said to run. Her better judgement said that there was no where to run to. He would eventually find her and punish her. She stopped. He grabbed her arm and threw to the ground. Shocked beyond rational thought, she automatically brought her legs up to protect herself. He lowered himself on top of her, slapping her to keep her compliant. Dawning realization paralyzed her. He meant to rape her. She fought in earnest against his greater size and experience. All the teachers had a military background. He knew how to keep her helpless.

"Get away from her!" Someone shouted. Dazed, Andrea tries to see who it is. It sounds like Dr. Winchell, but he shouldn't be here this late. But it was, and the meek and mild psychiatrist yanked the Dean off her. She'd heard rumors and seen some results of the Dean's fighting ability. But the civilian doctor easily knocked him down. Other people began to arrive, drawn by the commotion. Dean Paine feinted, Winchell ducked and jabbed. They swung, they kicked. She saw a cut open beneath Winchell's eye. The Dean's lip split.

"You're surprisingly good. Black belt?" Paine asked as he tried to find an opening, blood trickling down his chin.

"I don't remember." Sam replied.

"Ah."

Finally, Sam delivered a spinning kick that finished off Paine. Only then did someone ask what happened. In the midst of it all, Andrea slipped away.

No one ever noticed her leave. Her blouse was ripped, she was dirty. But no one had thought to see to her.

Al saw her go. "Sam, Andrea's leaving. Have someone get a statement. Or something."

"Andrea." Sam called.

She seemed to try to make herself small as eyes turned to her. "Yes Sir."

"Where are you going? You need a doctor."

"I'm fine, really. You stopped him before he could hurt me."

"Where's the school nurse?"

A woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to the stereotypical Russian athlete of the time appeared and gave Andrea a cursory and ungentle going over. Sam was horrified. No one seemed unduly perturbed that the dean of students had tried to rape a thirteen-year-old girl. In the end, he was forced to allow her to go back to her dorm.

Later, Sam made his way to the large apartment of his "host". "So now what, Al?"

Al looked at Sam. He looked exhausted, his knuckles were bleeding and there was a cut below his left eye. Paine had been good.

"You're not going to like it.  
"I figured as much when I didn't leap.  
"Tomorrow night one of the boys gets fresh; she decks him and is caught. For punishment, they put her in a closet. For two days. She's never the same, and winds up being put there fairly frequently as punishment. Eventually, she snaps. Right now, she's in a psych ward in a catatonic state."

"So I have to stop that."

"There's no guarantee that they won't do it again. You have to get her out of here."

"OK."

"Only problem is, she has no family."

"There are her siblings."

"In school on the East Coast."

"Is there anyone else?"

"Her uncle is in town. He's supposed to come here for a visit day after tomorrow, but he arrived tonight."

"I'll go see him."

"May not be that easy. He director of the Firm."

"What firm?"

"The Firm. It's one branch of the intelligence community. It was actually founded by his father in law, Andrea's grandfather."

"So why would he not want to see her safe?"

"What are you going to do, tell him that you know she's going to be traumatized tomorrow?"

"I'll think of something. He's her uncle, for Heaven's sake."

The next morning, Ziggy directed Sam, through Al, to the four star hotel in downtown where Hugh Murdock was staying. Sam had gotten used to persuading people to go against all logic. First, there'd been getting funding for the projects that he couldn't even explain in terms they could understand. And now there were the leaps themselves.

After explaining why he wanted to see Mr. Murdock, he was allowed up to one of the best suites in the hotel, Al tagging along with him, still punching things into the handlink to get some kind of edge. Sam was prepared to be charming and convincing.

"Mr. Murdock, thank you for seeing me." He said, smiling engagingly at the older man.

"Humph." Murdock was a tall, distinguished looking man with dark hair beginning to gray, brown eyes, and a lantern jawed face. His gaze was cool as he openly sized Sam up. "You said something about my niece?" He didn't offer Sam a seat or refreshment, although he held a brandy snifter.

"Yes, I'm the school psychiatrist. I was there last night when she was attacked."

"Someone called about that." He waved his hand dismissively. "Paine will be replaced."

"I'm also trying to help her with her claustrophobia."

Murdock sighed. "I told them not to coddle her. Young people today have no discipline."

"Discipline? I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Of course you don't. You're part of the problem. You want to "help her work on her claustrophobia." I think she needs to stop being such a baby about it."

"So you suggest we do nothing?"

"Of course not. Lock her in a closet. She'll discover that there's nothing to be afraid of."

"You're a nozzle." Al commented.

"Mr. Murdock, I really think that there's more to it than that. And I don't think the school is a proper place for her." Sam went for broke. "I see in her files that her parents died two years ago and she was trapped in the car-."  
"Spare me. I suppose she needs love and support and a home cooked meal."

"I think a home atmosphere might help, yes."

"I'm a widower, Mr. Winchell. I don't have a home. Neither does Andrea. Now if that's all…?"

"Couldn't you just take her out of school for a little while? I think it would be most beneficial-."

"No."

"But-."  
"Must I repeat myself?"

Sam sighed. Al was more vocal. "I'd like to lock you in a closet, you…." Al broke into Italian. Sam left, his dejection plain in the slump of his shoulders. "That_. You can bet he's never been in cage you can't stand up in! Or left in a pit where you can't see daylight." Al was still furious.

"Al, calling him names in Italian isn't going to help Andrea. What other options do we have?"  
Al checked the handlink. "We don't. You'll have to stop her from being put in the closet tonight and we'll go from there."

Andrea arrived on time that afternoon for her therapy session with Dr. Winchell. Her previous attitude had been replaced by a cowering kind of fear. Sam found himself speaking very softly and moving very slowly as he tried to draw out of her why she was so afraid of small spaces. She answered in monosyllables.

"You know, Andrea we aren't' going to get very far if you don't trust me." He finally said.

"Why should I?" She asked with more resignation than anger.

"I'm a doctor."

"Big deal."

"I helped you out last night."

"So what do you want in return?" Her eyes were cynical.

"Would you believe that I want to help you?"

"No."

Even though it was like talking to a brick wall, Sam kept her there long past her session. Until Al informed him that it was safe. Andrea bolted as soon as he allowed her to. Sam sighed as she shut the door, rubbing tired eyes. "So now what, Al?'

"She's safe for tonight. Why don't you go home and crash?"

"Tell me what happens to her."

"You'll be leaping soon. Winchell is a believer in confrontational therapy. He'll push her too fast."

"And she winds up traumatized."

"She never makes it into the intelligence service. After they reject her in five years, she hits the streets, drifts. Ziggy can't find any trace of her until some state cops pick her up along a roadside in Alabama with appendicitis in 1976. She recovers and vanishes again. There is a record of her giving birth to a stillborn son in 1978 in Montana. In 1984, a journalist named Amy Allen tracks her down for a series of articles she was writing on the school here. Thanks to those articles, the school is closed and a lot of people are made to look very bad."

"Well, that's good at least."

"After that, she vanishes again. Allen tried to track her down periodically, but never had any luck. In 1993, her body is found murdered after being shot execution style just outside of Dallas." Al lowered the handlink with a look of defeat.

"So explain how I've helped?"

"I don't know. I'm not the one leaping you." Al's eyes looked sad. He liked a happy ending as much as Sam. "Maybe it wasn't her you had to save, but all the other girls Paine would have raped."

"Maybe." Sam still felt defeated as he stood up and made his way outside, Al hovering alongside.

"Uh, Sam, Andrea's in your car." Al said quietly.

"What?"

"Shh. Just get in and drive home. I'll check with Ziggy, maybe this is your chance to help her."

Al began hitting buttons as Sam got behind the wheel of the sportscar, taking care not to glance in luggage compartment behind the seat. "Sam, if you just let her be, you'll change history. When you get home, just go inside. She runs away, of course, but heads west. Allen still writes the book, but without her input. There's no record of her being murdered in 1993. There's no record of her at all, actually." Al had to be honest. He saw the look Sam was giving him. "Sam, this might be the best chance she has."

Sam was at war with himself during the drive. A thirteen-year-old girl had no business being on the streets. But then, what was the alternative? Praying, he did nothing, hoping that God, Time or whoever would guide and protect Andrea.

Sam parked outside the upper side apartments where Winchell lived. He got out of the car, noting that no one was around. He debated speaking to Andrea, but considering how far he'd gotten early, realized that it would be of no use. As he reached into his pocket for the keys, he could think of only one thing that might be of some use. Casually, deliberately, he dropped his wallet in front of the car and went on in.

Al met him inside. "Sam! What did you do? You did it!"

Since no one else was in the foyer, Sam replied. "Did what?"

"She makes it. She makes it to California. Winds up working in the stunt business. Eventually, she becomes partner in…wait that's not the right name. Ooh, she becomes a partner in a stunt flying service and marries a pilot. They have a son."

"That's great. So it's happily ever after?" Sam was watching out the window as she emerged from the car and saw the wallet. The war between honesty and need was plain in her face. Finally, she picked it up, removed the cash, and replaced it in the car.

"Actually, he's killed a little over a year after their marriage and the business folds, but she's raising his daughter and their son."

"I guess we can't win them all." Sam said as he watched her run down the street, her bag flapping against her hip.

"It sounds like a better life than the alternative." Al said as the blue light embraced them both.


End file.
